


The Best Part of my Day (is you)

by lettertoelise



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, F/M, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6058363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettertoelise/pseuds/lettertoelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walking to class Jemma passed countless displays of the incessant red and pink decorations, avoiding the barrage of chalk flavoured candy and the heart-eye induced nausea until she finally slid to safety in her usual desk in the front.  At least she would have their movie night to look forward to, the two of them laid out on her dormitory twin size, fighting over the popcorn bowl.  He always added extra butter, much to her chagrin and secret delight. </p>
<p>FSSV gift  for writeonthrough.  Prompt:  Best Worst Valentine's</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Part of my Day (is you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Writeonthrough (Schroederplayspiano)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schroederplayspiano/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day writeonthrough!! I hope you like your gift!!
> 
> HUGE shoutout to Popsicle86 for her beta work on this! She deserves full credit for rewriting my attempts at humor and making them shine :) She's pretty much the best!

Jemma Simmons hated Thursdays.  Not quite the weekend, it’s title inspired by some over confident Norse God with a penchant for lightening. Thursday’s were the worst.  It didn’t help she never saw Fitz on these days either, dominated as they were by his obligations to the engineering department.  And today was Valentine’s day - doomed by its sheer placement in the week to be terrible.  Walking to class Jemma passed countless displays of the incessant red and pink decorations, avoiding the barrage of chalk flavoured candy and the heart-eye induced nausea until she finally slid to safety in her usual  desk in the front.  Noting there were a few minutes until the lecture officially started she slipped her phone out of her pocket.   

 

[Simmons]:  Are you still coming by tonight?

 

[Fitz]:  Are you seriously texting in Reubens’ class?  That man is a psycho!  Put your phone away!

[Fitz]:  Yes.  And I’m bringing popcorn.  

 

At least she would have their movie night to look forward to, the two of them laid out on her dormitory twin size, fighting over the popcorn bowl.  He always added extra butter, much to her chagrin and secret delight.  

 

Broken from her reverie by the shadow of a large man falling over her hunched form, Jemma shoved her phone into her bag and snapped upright, only to meet the indignant sneer of her professor.  A stout man in his mid-40s, aging poorly, Professor Hans Reubens was notorious for punishing first-years for especially mundane transgressions - and he hated cell phones.  

 

“Ooh, Dr. Simmons here seems to be arranging a Valentine’s date, class!” he chided, voice as greasy as his comb-over, “Much more important than my lecture on the spin orbitals of hyper quantum field extensions.”  

 

Jemma shivered, the man’s slimy baritone rumbling in her ears.  “Just checking the time, sir.  It’s exactly 9:00 and you are very punctual.”  The lie felt flimsy on her tongue, her traitorous eyebrows lifting to advertise her uncertainty.  

 

“Stay after class, if you would Dr. Simmons.  I would greatly appreciate help cleaning my lab supplies from last semester.  It’s, ahem,  _ long _ overdue.” 

 

Jemma’s heart sank.  He slithered back to his podium, eyes still burning into her own as he picked up his dull lecture, imbued as always, with his characteristic lack of any sort of human emotion.  She slumped down into her seat, cheeks burning.  

 

The punishment was even worse than she’d imagined.  Reubens had presented her task with a malicious grin - three boxes of lab glassware, caked in an unknown brown and murky substance, all waiting to be cleaned.  The appearance was enough on its own, but when accompanied by the smell, the sour bouquet of spoiled milk and moldy citrus, Jemma felt her nose curling in disgust.  

 

The sinister smirk still on his lips, Reubens handed Jemma a pair of tattered gloves and a sponge and left her at the sink with a victorious bounce to his step.  Her phone buzzed.  

 

[Fitz]:  I told you to put your phone away.

 

[Simmons]:  You’re not helping.

 

[Simmons]:  I bet Reubens has never been on a date in his life.  

 

[Fitz]:  Who would want to look at him while eating?

 

[Fitz]:  Wait - does this mean you’ll miss lunch?

 

Jemma put her phone down and stretched the filthy gloves over her long fingers.  They were too large, bulky and awkward, only adding to the complexity of her task.  She sighed.  Might as well get started.  

 

***

 

It took her two hours but the glassware had been cleaned, dried, returned to their places in the boxes which she had swept out and rearranged on their shelf in the cupboard.  Hands on her hips, Jemma surveyed her work with satisfaction.  Reubens may delight in torture, but Jemma Simmons never saw a task shoddily completed.  

 

She was on her way to meet Fitz in the Commons for lunch when she remembered.  Being delayed after Reubens’ lecture naturally meant missing her next class,  _ Biochemical Applications of Nuclear Magnetic Resonance _ .  Normally Professor Weaver was an understanding woman who avoided her less than pleasant colleague like the plague, so Jemma had been banking on her sympathy.  Until she remembered the quiz.  Weaver had a strict no re-take policy.  

 

Sprinting across the lawn, Jemma arrived at the chemistry building doubled over and out of breath.  Her hair had escaped from its tight ponytail.  Fitz would have teased she favoured Albert Einstein more than Greta Garbo as the static electricity in the dry air caused it to stubbornly orbit her head, despite her efforts to tamp it down.  

 

Jemma arrived at Weaver’s office, wild haired and pink cheeked, smelling faintly of unwashed lab equipment and of bleach.  She was breathless as she explained the situation.  

 

“I do apologize, Professor.  I would have e-mailed you straight away, had I anticipated the delay.  I do think my record here, however, can attest to my usual reliability.”

 

“I’m sorry, Dr. Simmons.”  Weaver responded, her tone gentle but firm, “For the sake of consistency, I cannot exempt one student from the rules without extending that favor to all.”  She paused, expression softening.  “No matter how industrious and bright the student may be.” 

 

Jemma’s heart was sinking again and she felt her gaze drift down to the hands folded in her lap.  She’d never missed a test in her whole academic career.  She was already calculating averages in her head, deciding the impact this one grade would have on her overall score when Weaver’s voice broke through her thoughts.  

 

“Go enjoy your Valentine’s Day, Dr. Simmons.  You’ll have ample opportunities to prove yourself in my class later this semester.”  

 

Jemma mustered a weak smile, thanking the professor for her time, and made her way to the door.   Guilt washed over her, leaving her stomach churning, as she felt the familiar vibration in her pocket 

 

[Fitz]:  You could have just told me you were going to miss lunch.  I waited half an hour for you.

 

Fitz’s text was accompanied by a growl in her own empty stomach and she finally left Weaver’s office, heavy limbed and disappointed.  

 

[Simmons]:  Don’t be angry.   I hope you ate anyway.

 

[Fitz]:  Of course I ate anyway.  I’m off to my lab.  See you tonight.  

 

The air was cold as Jemma retraced her path across the lawn and to the cafeteria.  The wind bit through the inadequate fabric of her coat and it had started to snow.  Trudging through the welcoming doors of the Commons, Jemma was glad to finally let warmth seep into her body and she settled into a small booth in the corner and pulled out her meagre salad.   

 

She was halfway into a bite of her second flavourless cucumber when Jemma saw the approach of Ashley and Margaret and tried desperately to sink unnoticed into the chair.  Third years with the combined IQ of a baboon, the pair of them were constantly trying to ruffle her feathers, capitalizing on any opportunity to get a rise or a blush out of her.

 

“Simmons?  Eating alone on Valentine’s Day?”  Damn.  She’d been spotted.

 

“Yeah, Simmons, where’s your boyfriend?” Ashley finished the question with her usual airy laughter, flipping her hair to the side and placing a combative hand on her hip.

 

Jemma looked down at her salad and tried her best not to respond. 

 

“Maybe he’s finally moved on to someone more in line with his own interests.” Margaret offered cattily.  

 

“Like who?  A monkey?”  And the pair were suddenly giggling furiously.  

 

Jemma fumed.  It was one thing to tease her, but poor Fitz wasn’t even there to defend himself.  “It’s ‘like  _ whom _ ’ and even dating a monkey would be better than spending an evening with one of you two.”  

 

Ashley rolled her eyes and tugged Margaret’s arm to continue on their way.  “Come on, Maggie.  She’s just lonely and bitter.  Let’s leave her to her misery.”

 

Ugh.  The day had gone from bad to worse.  At least classes were over.  Salad consumed, Jemma tucked the glass dish back into her bag and set off for the library.  It was her last stop before she could finally head back to her dormitory and set up for their movie night.  

 

[Simmons]:  Am I ordering pizza?

 

[Fitz]:  Naturally.  No mushrooms this time.  They’re disgusting.  

 

[Simmons]:  Broccoli?

 

[Fitz]:  If you must.  

 

The library was one of Jemma’s favourite places on campus.  Sprawling and infused with the sweet smell of knowledge, she loved getting lost in the stacks and finding books she hadn’t even known she’d wanted.  It wasn’t long before Jemma had found at least five volumes in addition to the one she’d been pursuing, the heap of books weighing her arms down as she struggled to make her way over to her bag on the table.  With her arms full, Jemma’s vision was severely impaired; however she trusted her implicit knowledge of the space and ability to calculate distance faster than most geniuses to guide her.  

 

Her calculations, sadly, did not include the student heading in her direction or the stool, abandoned carelessly in the walkway after someone had used it to hang a red cardboard heart from the ceiling. At the last possible moment the boy came into view, his symmetrical features widening in surprise, and she tripped, stumbling over the rogue piece of furniture, books flying.  

 

“Are you okay?” Mr. Symmetrical asked, extending his hand to help her.  Jemma reached towards his extended hand, noticing his kind brown eyes, which had drifted from her face to her chest. She glanced down and noticed that in her tumble her top two buttons had broken away from her blouse, exposing her bra. Her white bra with the chemical stains that Jemma only ever wore on laundry day as it made her look like a heavily lactating chimpanzee.  

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” she mumbled, scrambling to her feet, and pulling her top closed.  Without a further glance at her would be rescuer, she grabbed her bag and fled, humiliation burning in her cheeks as she frantically zipped her coat to limit her exposure.  

 

There was a man selling carnations set up on the steps, dressed colourfully in red and pink and made obvious by the cloud of heart-shaped balloons swaying above his head.  “Buy a flower for your Valentine?” he called, his voice a song.  

 

It was too much.  Jemma’s shoulders were pulled to her ears as she stomped in his direction and shouted, “This is the worst Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had!  And if you think I’m going to buy-” She halted, noticing how the flower-man was suddenly cowering behind a vase of baby's breath.  “Valentine’s Day is just a commercial holiday promoted by Hallmark and Big Sugar to prey on the pocketbooks of couples and insecurity of singles.  Don’t you think we’re all better than that?”  With a raised eyebrow, she adjusted her posture triumphantly.  At least now he would know it wasn’t fair to harass young girls when they clearly had other things on their minds.      

 

Pulling out her phone, Jemma’s fingers nimbly dialled the number to the pizza chain just outside of campus.  If she ordered now, she’d be there by the time the food was ready and then it was only a quick walk back to her dorm.  Only a little longer until she could just collapse onto her bed, drown her sorrows in terrible food and discount chocolate, with her best friend and whatever ridiculous movie he had inevitably chosen.  

 

What Jemma hadn’t accounted for was the wait.  It was obvious to her now that pizza was a Valentine’s Day favourite, the choice of many academy romantics opting to spend the night stuffing their faces with greasy cheese and carbohydrates.  This meant she was left pacing at the back of the restaurant for a half hour before her name was called.

 

[Fitz]:  I’ve eaten all the popcorn.  This is your fault.   

[Simmons]:  I’m only a little late.  Where are you now?

 

Jemma found him, stretched out in front of the door to her room, empty bowl cradled in his lap.  Fitz hopped up to grab the pizza, inhaling deeply and eagerly lifting the cardboard lid.  

 

“Mushrooms, Simmons?  What the hell?”  He moaned in disappointment.  

 

“They made a mistake with the order but I’d have been another hour if I waited for them to make me another one!” Jemma protested, pushing the door open and flicking on the light.  He slid a piece out of the box and plopped down on her bed, munching happily despite his whining.  

 

“Bloody Valentine’s Day,” she muttered as she set down her bag and moved to join him.

 

“I have something that will cheer you up.” Fitz offered through a mouthful of pizza.  Jemma raised a curious eyebrow.  

 

“Really?”

 

Popping the last piece of crust into his mouth, Fitz stood up and reached into his knapsack.  There was a shuffling of papers and he let out an impatient huff before finally pulling out a card and a small box.  

 

“I know we haven’t been friends more than a few months,” he began, suddenly shy. “But this is the first Valentine’s Day I haven’t spent alone. So - I wanted to do something.  For you.”  

 

Tactlessly, he shoved the items into her hands and steered his eyes nervously to the floor, his legs taking up their usual restless bounce as he waited for her assessment.  Jemma was smiling.  

 

“Fitz!  You’re amazing!  When did you have time to do all this?” Jemma exclaimed as she slid the card from it’s envelope and laughed at the his careful drawings and the message underneath:   _ Our Chemistry is Undeniable. _

 

“I know it’s a bit, um, charged?  I mean, I know we're not - but unless you- ,” he was murmuring to no one in particular.  Jemma threw her arms around him.  

 

“You ridiculous man, it’s perfect!”  She responded, squeezing him tight, but he was awkwardly pulling away.

 

“You’ve got to open the box.”

 

“Right.” Jemma nodded her head.  It was wrapped with Fitz’s characteristic precision, tape minimally applied, and she popped open the edges with her index finger.  He was watching her intensely, eyebrows knit together as if with deep concentration.  Lifting the top of the box, Jemma peered inside to find a delicate silver chain, complete with a small rose made of twisted wires, dangling from the centre.  

 

“Oh Fitz, you made this for me?”  Jemma asked breathlessly.  

 

Fitz shrugged.  “You know, I had some spare time.  Just keeping my hands busy and all that.”

 

This time Jemma’s hug nearly knocked him off his feet as she surged forward and wrapped him up in her embrace.  Stiffly his arms came up around her and he patted her back.  “I’m glad you like it.”  

 

“Yes!  It’s lovely, Fitz.  Really!”  She released him and did a little dance across the room to her mirror where she draped the necklace across her collarbone and worked the clasp.  In the reflection, she could see him watching her, cheeks red as he blushed furiously and she was amazed how her day could turn around so quickly.  

 

“This is the best worst Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had!” she announced happily, settling into her spot on the bed with a piece of pizza.  Fitz looked at her confused.  

 

“Jemma, you do know your blouse is broken right?

 

“I’ll explain later,” she said, reddening slightly as she pulled her shirt closed.  “Movie?”

 

Fitz grinned.  “Yes, please!”    

  
  
  



End file.
